A Wounded Fox
by icyfire
Summary: Diego is dragging around the pueblo like a dead man, and Zorro is acting like he wants to become one. Will Alejandro, Victoria, and Felipe be able to help?
1. Default Chapter

Title: A Wounded Fox  
  
Author: Robin aka icyfire  
  
Rating: PG (possibly PG13 for subject matter)  
  
Disclaimer: The Fox belongs to no one. ;) Okay, so he belongs to Zorro productions, but he lives in the hearts of millions.  
  
Summary: Diego is dragging around the pueblo like a dead man, and Zorro is acting like he wants to become one. Will Alejandro, Victoria, and Felipe be able to help?  
  
Author's Notes: But "Wounded Fox" is already on Fanfiction.net you are probably thinking. And you are right. However, in the author's notes of that one--which didn't make it to ff.net for reasons I now don't know--I admitted that I just wanted to do a nice short moment in time. Alejandro wasn't even supposed to know, but he insisted that he was a smart man. So, being the author, I started to wonder what made the Fox behave that way. What was it that made him so depressed?  
  
Well, he finally told me the story, and I wrote it down. The scene, reworked some and edited, that is "Wounded Fox" is also in this fic.  
  
This fic was written three years ago for a fanzine that never materialized. FF.net is the first place it has ever appeared.  
  
***  
  
He sat up, his mouth opened in a silent scream, struggling to escape Morpheus's hold on him. It took him a few moments to realize that he was in his own bed, his nightmare having seemed so real. Diego thought he should be used to their horrible realism by now: He had relived the moment over again every night since that ghastly day.  
  
Gasping for breath, Diego laid back down. He stared up at the ceiling. In all the years he had lived in this room, he had never noticed all of its texture. With so many recently sleepless nights, he was now familiar with each and every line embedded into his room's canopy.  
  
He learned that first sleepless night not to look around his room. Tired and ashamed, he had turned towards his window, seeking comfort in the mysteries of the moon. Instead, he had noticed how much his curtains looked like blood.  
  
He closed his eyes as he heard the familiar night whispers. Coward, they whispered. Murderer, they chanted in his mind. He no longer argued against their claims, tired of trying to defend the undefendable. He scrapped his hands across his bed sheets in an effort to wipe the invisible blood away, the blood of a child. He knew it was useless, just as useless as trying to get more sleep tonight.  
  
* * * * *  
  
He didn't get much sleep again last night, Victoria thought as she watched Diego sitting in his usual seat by the pillar. It was becoming an everyday occurrence. He would be waiting for her to open her doors, making a huge effort to smile. She could tell that it was forced, but she was glad that he was trying.  
  
She walked over and refilled his water glass. Not that he noticed. He spent most of the morning staring at her wall, showing all the energy of a corpse. Victoria shivered at that thought, refusing to think about such a horrible idea.  
  
Don Diego was one of her best friends, if not her closest. His gentle nature had made it easy for her to take him for granted, but his recent absence in spirit made her aware of how much he involved himself in her life: from the gentle teasing comments to get her out of a snit, to the soft laughs at her jokes, to the amused grin at her latest passionate outburst--all practically unnoticed until they were gone.  
  
Leaning on her counter, she studied Diego. He was wearing one of his customary blue outfits, but she noticed it hung loosely on his body. He had lost weight. She hoped he was not ill, but Victoria quickly dismissed that thought. Ever since he had returned from Spain, he had no problem letting anyone and everyone know when he was sick. A mere cold could keep him in bed for a week. If he were sick, she would have known about it, either from his lips or Alejandro's.  
  
His lips . . . the usual smooth and healthy pink lips were chapped and pale. It looked as if he had spent a lot of time nibbling on them. Maybe he was lost in thought about one of his many experiments . . . He often spent days at a time thinking about one of his science projects. Victoria picked up a rag and absently began wiping the counter. No, it couldn't be that because she knew what he looked like then: a little absent-minded perhaps, but full of excitement at the possibility of learning something new.  
  
His beautiful, lush hair was different, too. It had lost its usual shine, a sure hint that he was not eating healthy, but then the way his clothes hung on his smaller framer had already told her that fact.  
  
Those beautiful blue eyes were what worried her the most. They were . . .dead. *No, another word, Victoria!* she ordered. She looked down at the cloth in her hand as if she had never before seen it. She could not think of another word for his eyes. They were usually full of excitement and joy, but now they were . . . lifeless.  
  
Victoria turned, walking quickly into the kitchen. She told herself that it was because she had work to do, but she knew better. Passing through the curtain, she wiped at her eyes--because of the sun's brightness was the excuse she gave herself. She reached up and grabbed a pot down from the shelf. Minutes before, she would have told anyone what was on her menu, and arroz con pollo was not on it. Now, she had overwhelming desire to make the dish that just happened to be Diego's favorite.  
  
She raced around the room, gathering ingredients, trying to stay ahead of her traitorous thoughts. It was an old custom for her in many ways, but today the voice inside her mind seemed louder.  
  
*You notice a lot about man that you claim to take for granted.*  
  
Chop. Chop. Chop. *I do not*, she answered angrily.  
  
*Oh, really? Just his body, his hair, his lips, and his eyes. The only thing you forgot to look at earlier was his hands!*  
  
*His hands are just fine!*  
  
*So you did notice?* Could someone's conscience be so mocking, so condescending? It was laughing at her. *You dream about him at night.*  
  
*I dream about Zorro! I love Zorro!* She didn't like how desperate she sounded in her own mind.  
  
*True, true*, the little voice mocked. *Diego is a close second though. You fantasize about him putting that body next to yours as you run your hands through that hair. You want him to kiss you hard, where the last thing you see, before closing your eyes in joy, is his eyes looking at you with an incredible desire.*  
  
Tossing the chicken into the pot, she shook her head at her own thoughts. *I'm almost making myself cry*, she told herself, trying to find some humor. *Diego is my friend, and I do care about him deeply. Those dreams . . . those dreams are just school girl fantasies. I dream about Zorro more.*  
  
The voice inside her was quiet for a moment. *If there were no Zorro . . ..*  
  
She stopped for a moment, lost in a truth that she usually refused to admit. "If there were no Zorro . . ." Refusing to hear the wistful desire in her own voice, she forced her thoughts back to her cooking. She had made a promise and a vow. There was no turning back for her. Besides, she really did love Zorro. It was just sometimes--not often--that she thought she could fall in love with Diego, too.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Diego started when she put the bowl in front of him. Anna Marie was here now, so Victoria decided to take a break. "Eat," she said with a smile. "You look like you could use it."  
  
He began to shake his head, beginning to refuse her offer. "I'm not really hungry, Victoria--"  
  
"Eat." It was a plea more than a command.  
  
He looked down at the bowl with almost a mild sense of revulsion on his face. Victoria would take it personal except for two things. First, she knew how much he loved her cooking, and second, she understood that, for whatever reason, any thought of eating was revolting to him right now. She thanked the Lord when he picked up a spoon. He was taking small bits, but even small ones put food into his body.  
  
"Diego," she said softly, topping off his water with her pitcher. He had only drunk a few drinks from it since she filled it earlier in the morning, but she wanted something to do with her hands. "What's bothering you?"  
  
He looked at her for a moment. "Bothering me? Nothing's bothering me," he lied to her without blinking. She refused to admit how much it hurt.  
  
Leaning forward, she looked into his eyes. Their dullness made her want to shiver. "We are friends. You can tell me," she said, unknowingly echoing his words from an early time.  
  
She saw the indecision on his face, the burning desire to tell someone, anyone. It was then that she made her mistake; she reached over and touched his hand. He jerked his away as if her hand was made out of fire, and she watched the emotional shutters close. He would not open up for her again today. She wanted to cry in pain, ask what she had done, but she kept silent. Fear was a horrible enemy to truth.  
  
They sat silently together for a few minutes, neither looking up at the other. It was Mendoza who broke the silence. He slowly walked over to their table, his usual bounce missing. He sat down, seeming not to notice the tension between his two friends. Victoria looked up and saw the relief on Diego's face. It hurt, but it also made her worry even more. The Diego she knew would be demanding, in his own kind way, to know what was wrong with the sergeant. The one sitting across from her, the pale ghost-like version, saw his arrival as an opportunity of escape.  
  
"I'm afraid I got bad news," Mendoza finally muttered when no one asked.  
  
Victoria tore her eyes away from Diego. "What is it, Mendoza?"  
  
He sighed heavily. "I'm afraid the gallows are being prepared."  
  
"The gallows?" Diego's voice only held a spark of interest. Victoria wanted to scream, to shake him out of this new apathy. He may have never been a man of action, but he had always had a big heart.  
  
"Sì, amigos, the alcalde has ordered the hanging of Don Tores." Diego's face, for just a moment, showed his surprise. Mendoza nodded sadly. "He has accused him of treason."  
  
"Treason? Don Tores is one of the most loyal men I have ever met. I have spent years hearing him telling me why Spain and her King are the best in the world. Now, the alcalde thinks he's guilty of betraying that Country and King? It's the most ridiculous things I've heard, Sergeant." Even as Victoria feared for a friend's safety, she also rejoiced in hearing some life come back into Diego's voice.  
  
She and Mendoza exchanged glances. It was then that she realized that the friendly man had also been worried about Diego. She saw the relief she was feeling reflected in his eyes, too. Diego stood suddenly. "If you will excuse me, I need to go find my father." With those few clipped words said, he was gone.  
  
Mendoza's eyes met hers again. "At least, he was interested." Victoria nodded her agreement, wishing the gnawing feeling in her stomach would leave. 


	2. 2

Felipe was experiencing the same feeling. He watched as Diego dressed into the black outfit of Zorro. It was something the boy had done many times over the years, but something was different now. Diego's actions were stiff, as if he was forcing himself to put on those clothes. If Felipe did not know better, he would have sworn he saw a look of distaste crossing Diego's face when he first touched the mask today.  
  
Zorro turned towards Toronado without even looking in the mirror. He usually adjusted the mask on his face after a quick glance to see where it was, but today his eyes had stayed lowered, like the mirror would show some horrible sight.  
  
He quickly jumped up on the great stallion and left. There was no smile or gentle adios this time. Felipe wondered what was wrong with his friend. It seemed as if he now carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.  
  
He hesitated only a moment before walking towards the exit. He pulled the lever and walked through the passage quickly. He needed to work in the cave, but it could wait. He raced towards his room and his rosary. Chores would have to wait until after he had asked that the Lord protect his friend and hero.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The crowd was restless, but DeSoto seemed to enjoy their outcries. Victoria could see the hint of a smile forming as he rubbed his jaw. Unlike the crowd, Victoria remained quiet. She had no doubt that Zorro would be here soon, and that he would quickly wipe the arrogant smile from the alcalde's face.  
  
"Don Tores is a loyal Spaniard," Don Alejandro protested. Victoria's eyes strayed around the plaza, hoping to catch site of the man she loved. Maybe I could ask him to look after Diego. A good friend to the de la Vegas, he would be as concerned as she when she told him.  
  
"Really? Does a loyal Spaniard carry military secrets in his horse's saddlebags?" the alcalde challenged him. The crowd gasped in surprise since was the first time they had been told why Don Tores was being accused of treason.  
  
Don Tores managed to say a few words before being punched in the stomach by the butt of a lancer's musket. "I'm innocent! They weren't there--"  
  
Don Alejandro took a step closer to the gallows. The crowd recognized the signs. An angry Don Alejandro sputtered and yelled, but an enraged Don Alejandro stayed in control, each movement similar to those of a stalking cat. Even the alcalde, standing next to the accused and surrounded by his own lancers, took a step back from the advancing man. "My friend says that he never saw those papers before your men searched his bags."  
  
The alcalde's eyebrow lifted. "Don Tores has made no such claim."  
  
"He did when I spoke to him earlier in his jail cell."  
  
DeSoto's eyes showed his anger and his surprise. He swirled to look at Mendoza. "This prisoner was to have no visitors!"  
  
Mendoza winced at his superior's yell. "I'm sorry, mi alcalde, but a condemned prisoner always has the right to talk to the executor of his estate and a priest."  
  
Don Alejandro grinned as he crossed his arms. It was not a sign of amusement. "Why is that you did not want Don Tores to be able to speak to anyone, Alcalde?"  
  
DeSoto straightened in anger at the mocking tone. "He's a danger to the Crown. If we let him talk to anyone, he could possibly pass secrets to those who work to hurt our glorious King."  
  
"Have you even looked at the evidence, Alcalde?" asked a voice that was even more mocking. Victoria turned to look behind her with a grin on her face. It faltered when her eyes rested on her fiancé. He stood on the top of building, a sight that the people of Los Angeles were used to seeing. However, there were no chimneys in the center to duck behind, no easy escape routes. Victoria's face twisted in concern when she realized that she had never seen him use the blacksmith's roof as a means of escape or challenge.  
  
DeSoto's rage exploded. "Of course I have!"  
  
Zorro's usual amusement was missing. "Really?" he asked softly. "How do you plan to explain to the governor that you hung one of his closest friends for having in his possession an edict that you had posted three months before his arrest?"  
  
The crowd was silent. DeSoto's mouth opened and closed in shock. He then turned sharply to look at the lancer closest to Tores, the one that had butted him in the stomach. Victoria did not like that lancer, had not since he arrived from Mexico City last week. "I took it from the pile you said, Alcalde. I cannot read!" Victoria and Alejandro were the only ones in the crowd close enough to hear, but DeSoto knew his plan had failed. His face wore that all-too-familiar look.  
  
"Let him go," he spit out between clenched teeth. Victoria turned to look over at the blacksmith's, expecting to find her love already gone. Her heart dropped at the sight of him still standing there, his arms crossed loosely. DeSoto also noticed then that his adversary was not quick to leave.  
  
"Shoot him!" he ordered his men. Victoria flinched as the lancers aimed their weapons. She screamed when they fired. Instead of ducking as they aimed, he had just stood there, like a condemned man before a firing squad. At the last second, he ran and jumped off the back of the building. She hoped Toronado was waiting there to race him away from the pueblo.  
  
Her heart was in her throat when she heard the familiar hoof beats pounding behind her. He was racing through the plaza to get away instead of riding away outside the pueblo. Had he gone loco? She turned to look at him, but for once he didn't even look her way. He thundered away as the soldier's bullets whizzed past him. Victoria would have sunk to her knees if not for Don Alejandro's support.  
  
Today, she had not gained an ally in her concern for Don Diego. Instead, she now found herself worrying about both of the men she loved.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Victoria sat quietly at one of her own tables. Anna Maria was taking care of the few customers the tavern had, which was a good thing. Victoria was in no shape to take care of her patrons. She finally noticed what Don Alejandro was saying to his friends: "--magnificent! I thought the alcalde would swallow his own tongue!" He clapped his hands together in excitement. His friends laughed.  
  
She looked over at him in surprise. How could he not . . . Surely, he noticed . . . "Don Alejandro, something is wrong with Zorro."  
  
All eyes rested on her. She rubbed her arms, knowing that the chill was inside of her. "He took so many unnecessary risks today."  
  
"I don't think he took one unnecessary chance at all," Don Tores said with a kind smile.  
  
Victoria shook her head. "I'm not meaning his rescuing you. I expected that. It's just--" She sighed heavily, aggravated that she could not find the words. Running her hand through her hair, she turned away from the men. "It was like he was asking them to hit him with those bullets. He just stood there, waiting--"  
  
Laughing, Don Alejandro walked over and put his hands on her arms, trying to comfort her. "I think you are worrying too much, Victoria. He was just having some fun at the alcalde's expense."  
  
Victoria turned in his arms, looking at him intently. "I pray that you are right, Don Alejandro, but I didn't see any joy in him today."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Diego sat in the library. The sun was setting, but he did not bother to light any candles. There was no need. He had no plans for tonight.  
  
He sat silently, his thoughts focused on the past. Today, in the plaza, he had experienced a feeling that he had never felt as Zorro. When the lancers had fired their guns, relief had flooded through his senses, so strong that he could almost taste it. If Don Alejandro and Victoria had not been there . . .  
  
The relief was almost as intense when he took off the familiar outfit. *Realizing that the black of the cowl matches the blackness in your soul?* the now familiar voice of condemnation whispered. Maybe that was the reason he never wanted to be Zorro again, or maybe it was because he now knew the hero was a living lie.  
  
*Coward*, the voice of his mind whispered. *Murderer*, it accused him. Diego sat in silence, surrounded by the voice's allegations.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Victoria sat outside of her tavern, watching the people mill about the plaza. Most everyone was outside today because of the heat. A few would be stopping by soon for something to refresh them she was sure, but for right now, she had an empty establishment. It was unfortunate, because it gave her too much time to think. Too much time to worry about Diego and Zorro and what was bothering them.  
  
She watched Alejandro hop off his horse and storm over to where the alcalde stood. Leaning forward, she put her weight on her elbow. The old caballero had been quiet since the arrest of his friend Don Tores. The once-condemned man had--some said wisely--left the area for a vacation. Tores believed the alcalde was looking for a way to embarrass the governor, and he refused to be the bait. DeSoto, enraged by his recent defeat, had begun arresting peasants one after another. Fortunately, Zorro had stopped him each time.  
  
Thoughts of the outlaw made Victoria frown. He was becoming even more reckless, if that were possible. She spent every day expecting to hear news that he had been hurt or killed. There had been whispers that he had been hurt challenging the Argüello gang. There was little doubt that it was true. After all, it was one man against thirty-four of the most vicious banditos in Alta California. It was impressive that he had escaped with his life.  
  
Don Alejandro's voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. "--is illegal, DeSoto, as you well know. The governor has worked hard on his peace treaties with the Indians, and I do not believe he would like hear how you are undermining them!"  
  
DeSoto quietly stood in front of Alejandro. Victoria sat up when she noticed how calm he appeared to be, and she wondered at it. Was he planning to harm Don Alejandro?  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Don Alejandro," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. Victoria could hear the edge of anger in his voice, but he was working hard to hide it. "The Indians have agreed to pay the tax. They can afford to pay it, even more than most of the peons in this pueblo. Their copper ore has made them wealthy."  
  
Victoria was an expert on the shifting changes of a crowd's emotion. DeSoto did deserve some credit. He was learning to play a politician well. The ability of the Indians to pay, along with the inability of the peons to pay, was a remarkable trump card. The crowd of peasants, too overtaxed for almost a decade, was siding quickly with DeSoto.  
  
Alejandro seemed to understand that he was on the losing side for the moment. "It is illegal, Alcalde, and you know it," he said softly, his hands clenched at his side. "The governor has worked hard to get peace--"  
  
"With savages?" DeSoto taunted. Another trump card. Most of the peasants feared the Indians, having little to do with them.  
  
Alejandro's struggle to remain in control was obvious to see. "The Indians here are good people. We stole their land, and then forced them to live like animals. The governor has realized how many good men we have lost fighting the Indians instead of working with them for peace!"  
  
DeSoto grinned, knowing that he was winning this particular argument. It was an unusual occurrence when the de la Vegas were involved. "There is no uprising, Don Alejandro. As I said, the Indians agreed to pay."  
  
He began to walk away. "I wonder what the Governor will think of your blatant disregard of his orders!" the caballero called after him.  
  
"I would not advice you to try to find out, Señor!" All pretense of pleasantness was gone. The alcalde was letting his teeth show.  
  
Don Alejandro had never been afraid of animals. He stepped close to the alcalde, so close that it made the other man uncomfortable. Alejandro grinned. "Your advice is . . . noted, Alcalde." He turned and walked away, leaving an angry DeSoto stewing behind him.  
  
Victoria stood, watching the ranchero storming over to her tavern. She was glad to see him, because she had been thinking about riding out to the de la Vega hacienda tonight to visit with him. She desperately wanted to talk about Diego and Zorro with someone who cared about them as much as she did, and Don Alejandro did deeply care about both of them.  
  
"I can not believe the arrogance of that man!" he snapped as he stormed past her. She followed him into her tavern, wondering how to bring up the subject. Surely he had noticed now how Diego walked around like a ghost, and Zorro acted like he wanted to be one.  
  
"Did you hear what he was doing, Victoria? He forced the Indians to agree to taxation with vague threats and then acts as they walked into his office and asked to pay taxes! I don't understand what he is up to," Don Alejandro said, clenching his gloves in his right hand.  
  
She poured him a glass of lemonade and watched as he drank it. He appeared to be calming down, but lost in thought. She considered putting off talking to him--he had not been open after Don Tores's escape, and she was not sure that he was any more willing to listen now. Then, the gnawing feeling in her gut made itself felt, and she knew that she could not put if off for a minute longer.  
  
"Don Alejandro?"  
  
"Um?" he answered vaguely.  
  
"Don Alejandro, what's wrong with Diego?" she spit the question out in her nervousness. What if he were ill? Maybe even dying?  
  
He finally focused on her. "What? Nothing's wrong with Diego, as far I know. Why do you ask?"  
  
Victoria hesitated a moment before answering. Had he really not seen what was so obvious to her? Maybe she was wrong? "He's walking around like he's a ghost! He barely eats. You can see how much weight he has lost from the way his clothes hang. He's hardly talked to a soul this past month, and I don't why."  
  
Alejandro waved his hand. "Oh, he's probably focused on one of his pointless experiments."  
  
Victoria shook her head. "I don't think so, Don Alejandro. He seems angry. And hurt."  
  
"I think you are just worrying too much, Victoria. Just like you were worried about Zorro," he said kindly, lightly clasping his hand over hers across the bar.  
  
Victoria looked down at her hands. "I am worried about them. Diego acts like a dead man, and Zorro acts like a man who wants to be dead."  
  
Alejandro started to say something more to her, but Don Fernando walked into the room with some other caballeros. "What do you think the alcalde is trying to do to the governor, Don Alejandro?" the man's voice boomed across the room. Alejandro gave her an apologetic smile, and turned eagerly to talk to his friends about recent events. 


	3. 3

"You'll will not believe what the alcalde is doing now, my son," Don Alejandro said, walking into his library.  
  
"What's he doing now?" his son asked, sitting in a chair.  
  
"Well, not surprisingly, he's disobeying the--" Alejandro stopped speaking when he realized how weak that voice sounded. For the first time in over a month, he focused on Diego. The sight before him shocked him.  
  
Diego's skin was pale and gaunt, and his eyes had large dark circles under them. Victoria was being kind when she said that his clothes were hanging loosely. They were practically falling off of him! He shivered a little when he thought about Victoria's comments. Diego looked--Diego looked--He looked exactly like Alejandro had pictured ghosts looking like when he listened to one of the numerous tales usually told around a campfire. How had he not noticed?  
  
"Diego, are you all right?" His voice hinted at both his surprise and his concern.  
  
His son smiled. "I'm fine, Father."  
  
"Are you sure?" Thinking over the events of the last few months, Alejandro could think of nothing that would be bothering Diego. Still, he did look rough.  
  
The smile grew larger. "Honestly, I'm fine. I've been a little distracted by one of my experiments. You were saying that the alcalde was breaking the law again? Which one?"  
  
As had become his habit over the last few years, Alejandro believed what his son said with little question. He turned his attention back to the illegal taxation, forgetting his momentary concern.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"How long are you here for, amigo?" Don Alejandro asked an old friend two days later. It was not often that they had a chance to meet these days, and their letters often took time to find one another. Alejandro had stayed put over the years, but Jack Willis was a man with no moorings. He traveled around the world like tumbleweed, following the wind to his next location. It was how Alejandro first met him in Spain, back when they both had been young men. He, Edmund, and Jack were often getting into trouble until Alejandro caught a glimpse of a beautiful lady traveling by in her coach. Within four months, he had married her, and his friends had continued in their old ways without him.  
  
"I'm just passing through, Alejandro. I have somewhere I need to be, so I'm leaving on the afternoon coach," Jack answered regretfully.  
  
The caballero leaned back, an amused smirk on his face. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "You have to be somewhere?"  
  
Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat. For a moment, Don Alejandro thought that his old friend would refuse to answer. When Jack looked up at him, the look on his face stunned Alejandro. There was pain, and fear, and hope, and--it was a collage of all human emotions.  
  
His friend finally answered with his own question. "Do you remember Catalina?"  
  
Alejandro thought for a few moments, time having dimmed his memories. "Catalina? Oh, yes, that was that actress you were seeing when I met my Elena. She was beautiful."  
  
"Only on the outside, my friend. Only on the outside." He took a swig of his tequila before saying anything else. "A few years ago, a young man contacted me. He was the son of Catalina."  
  
Alejandro saw the rest of the story on his friend's face. "Your son."  
  
Jack nodded. "Yes, my son. He thought his father was dead, but then he found a letter from his mother when he was going through her things. She had died of a fever, and he was trying to clean out her room."  
  
"So, he contacted you--" He hoped that it had a good ending for his comrade. Jack's past was murky to even his closet friends, but those who knew him sensed it contained great pain. Elena often told him that she thought was Jack was running from something. Alejandro had to agree with his wife, praying that he would one day find healing in running to something. Maybe Jack's son would give him that something to run towards at last.  
  
"He just wanted to get to know me a little, to find his roots." Jack took another drink of his tequila. "We wrote a lot of letters. I found myself staying in one place so he could contact me, believe it or not."  
  
Alejandro laughed. "That is amazing, Jack."  
  
The American laughed with him. "I know, but . . ." He looked up at his friend again, his eyes shining with tears and joy. "His wife's about to have my grandbaby, and he invited me over to see them. They live in Mexico City. I know the chances aren't good, but I'm trying to get there before she has the little one."  
  
Alejandro remembered the joy of seeing his son for the first time. His only regret was that he had not been there when he was born, so he understood Jack's desire. "May the Lord keep the wind at your back," he said, lifting his glass in a toast.  
  
Jack laughed in his joy, gladly lifting his own glass as a toast. Alejandro saw that his friends had really found something to run towards, and he prayed that the other man held on to it tightly with both hands.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Jack was preparing to step on the coach when he asked about Diego. "How's that son of yours, by the way?" Alejandro felt his smile faltering for a moment. Diego had not been present for one meal in the last two days, and he couldn't be sure that the young man had eaten anything. "Is anything wrong?"  
  
Alejandro smiled at himself, forcing his concerns to the back of his mind. His son was a strong young man. He was fine. Diego had already told him that he was just concentrating on an experiment, and Felipe always made sure to see that he was eating when he was in one of those moods.  
  
He felt his smile relax. "Yes, everything is fine. Diego's been lost in his books for the last few days."  
  
"You sound very proud of him," Jack said wistfully.  
  
"I am," he admitted. "Very proud, Jack. Now that you are living so close, you'll have to come back and meet him sometime."  
  
"I'd like that," Jack said with a smile. "I'm always willing to meet someone who can impress Don Alejandro de la Vega!'  
  
He smiled and nodded. "Yes, Jack, when you meet him you'll realize that somehow a champion came from this old workhorse."  
  
"Then, I'll definitely have to meet him, if you consider yourself a workhorse. Adios!"  
  
Alejandro stood watching the coach until it disappeared in the distance. He turned and stopped at the sight of the alcalde and the lancers surrounding him. The look on Mendoza's face told him that he was not about to like what DeSoto was planning.  
  
The alcalde grinned a broad grin. "Meeting with an Americano? Don Alejandro," he tsked. "I would think you would know better."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Felipe ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He was used to running back and forth to the pueblo. He had his little pony to ride, but he enjoyed the feeling of freedom that using his own legs gave him. He was used to the run, and could usually manage the distance without breathing hard. Today was different. He was pushing himself harder than he ever had, feeling every tortured breath sucked into his body.  
  
He stopped in front of Diego, who was again sitting in the library, staring out of the window. It was a usual pose for him anymore. Felipe waited for the man to notice him, but it took him a few moments. His face was blank when he saw the sweaty young boy standing in front of him. "What's wrong, Felipe?"  
  
Catching his breath at last, Felipe sighed as quick he could. "My father? The alcalde is planning to hang my father? For what reason?"  
  
Felipe made motions indicating the rancho to the right of the de la Vega land. "He's accusing him of treason like Don Tores?"  
  
Diego stood there, his hands clenched. Felipe turned from the fireplace to look at his friend. His concern had only grown over the last few weeks. He managed to get Diego to eat the bare minimum each day with a stubbornness that surprised him and Diego, but he still had no clue as to what was bothering the older man. "Should I go as Diego or as Zorro?"  
  
Felipe's jaw dropped. It was a question never asked before, and he worried why it was being done so now. They did not have time to debate the issue. He tugged on the caballero's white shirt, angrily made the sign of the "Z", and pulled the man towards the cave. Don Alejandro was in trouble, and the only person who could save him was Zorro. They would have to work out Diego's problem when he got back from the pueblo. 


	4. 4

As a young boy, Alejandro de la Vega had learned an important lesson the hard way. His father had tried to tell him, to let him know the truth with ease. However, Alejandro, full of the de la Vega stubbornness that the family was known for, ignored the advice. He could remember the sight of Wolf, his childhood companion, lying on the ground, bloody from being kicked by a horse. Alejandro, horrified by his friend's pain, reached down to pet him.  
  
Fortunately for him, his father had also seen the accident and rushed over to pull the dog off of his son. Alejandro still saw the tiny scares on his arm every time he got dressed. "Never approach a wounded animal!" his father has shouted at him in fear before hugging him close. They had cried together when Lopez used his blade to kill the hurting animal. A young Alejandro learned a lesson that day. He never again, no matter how good of a friend, approached a wounded beast. Or, at least, not without the utmost caution.  
  
As an army officer, he had learned another important lesson. Men were not animals. "Men can think, so they know you are trying to help," his father had tried to explain to him that day in the past. Alejandro realized the truth of that statement on the battlefields. He had seen grown men cry in gratitude that someone was willing to sit by them, touch them, as they died. Men without arms or legs gladly accepted another's help as they were carried to the doctors.  
  
He also been taught a lesson his father had not tried to tell him the easy way. Maybe his father, from an easier time, did not know the other simple truth himself; men could be wounded as well. Physical injuries would heal, but the injuries to their soul . . . They would make a man as dangerous as Wolf had been with his physical hurts.  
  
He had seen many of those wounded men, unable to ask for or receive help, die. Oh, their bodies continued to live, sometimes years after the spirit inside had left. It was hard for him, a man of action, to accept how little a human being could do to help one of his own that was wounded. He had seen some of the wounded manage to heal the tears on their souls, but it usually did not come with a bandage from mankind. It was something inside.  
  
Alejandro thought of Jack. He was a wounded man, but he had an inner strength to keep looking for the help he needed, and it appeared that he had finally found the thread to sew his soul back together.  
  
But that earlier joy had now turned into terror. Instead of laughing in the plaza with an old friend, Don Alejandro de la Vega was now stuck in a cave with a wounded Fox, and his fear threatened to overwhelm him. No, he was not worried that Zorro would harm him. Just the opposite; he was afraid that he would harm the outlaw, that he would be unable to help the man to find the strength to keep looking for help. His stomach clenched at the thought of a soulless Fox roaming the hills of Los Angeles.  
  
The roaming would not last for long. The body would soon join the soul if things continued as they were now. Victoria had tried to warn him that something was wrong, but he had refused to listen, because he had not wanted to believe. Yes, Zorro had seemed reckless in his actions lately, but Alejandro hadn't wanted to believe that it was a reckless abandonment that he was watching. He chose to believe it was a controlled prank, because the people of Los Angeles needed a strong and whole Zorro. Alejandro needed him.  
  
The masked outlaw finally stopped his angry pacing. He now simply leaned himself against the wall of the cave, looking out of the entrance as he watched the brilliance of the storm. It was obvious to the rancher that Zorro was deep into thought, but what thoughts were in that brilliant mind?  
  
Alejandro started when Zorro provided the answer without prompting. "I almost got you killed today." He stated it in a matter of fact tone, which frightened Alejandro more than any amount of raging. His voice was that of a man who was tired, too tired to fight anymore, even himself.  
  
"You saved me today!" he protested, every nerve in his body on fire. "If the alcalde had been granted his wish, I'd now be hanging from a rope in the plaza." He began praying as hard as he had ever prayed. The only other time he had prayed so hard had been while his wife lay dying in their bed. Please, Lord, he pleaded. Please, help me to say the words to help this young man. He needs help, and I know that I am not enough.  
  
Zorro looked at him for a moment, no longer bothering to hide the sadness in his eyes. Maybe he no longer had the strength to hide his pain from anyone. "And my foolishness almost had us shot by one of his patrols! The *same* patrol that rides that *same* path, the *same* way, at the *same* time, every day. I should have remembered something so simple, but I wasn't paying attention, I guess--I'm sorry." Zorro sank down to the floor of the cave, his eyes back on the storm outside. "I'm sorry."  
  
The whistling of the wind and the pounding of the rain were the only sounds in the cave for a short time. Finally, Alejandro asked, "Did you see yourself as a warrior, Zorro?" He suddenly, desperately, wanted to know everything about this man. He wanted to know why he had made the choices he had made in his life.  
  
"What?" Zorro sounded confused by Alejandro's question, but his voice remained tired and lifeless.  
  
The old caballero smiled as vague memories crossed his mind. His childhood had been one of joy, and he had struggled to make Diego's the same. His son's had been a little harder though, being an only child and losing his mother too soon. "Did you see yourself as a warrior? When I was a child, I dreamed of being a fighter. Of fighting in battles and beating the enemy- -whoever that happened to be! Oh, yes, I saw myself as a warrior and played the games that young soldiers do. I don't know how many times I defeated the enemy--my brothers." He chuckled. "They resented my usual wins, but they always tried harder to beat me the next time. So, I was wondering if you ever saw yourself the same way."  
  
Zorro managed a weary smile at the youthful exuberance in Don Alejandro's voice, which had been the man's intention. "No," Zorro said with a joyless half-laugh. "No, I never saw myself as a fighter. My father is an old soldier and enjoys the fight. I admire him for it, but I never wanted to follow him--at least not in that way. I believe in peace, but I was also raised to respect justice. Father taught me to help those that are weaker than me, those that are unable to help themselves. I've always known that a person has to fight for what is right, and I do so with pride, but I hate the fact that it is necessary."  
  
Alejandro considered the man's words and what they revealed about him. He knew that being Zorro had to be an incredible burden, but he had never considered a possible conflict raging inside the man. Fighting for what was right was honorable, but to those that believe in peace above all else, it takes a special toll. "Your father taught you well. He must be very proud of you," he said, with only a small catch in his voice.  
  
"No," Zorro answered in a sad, small voice. "No, I'm something of a disappoint to him."  
  
Alejandro looked over at the slouching outlaw. Zorro's entire body showed how heavy his father's displeasure weighed on him. His yearning for his father's respect cried out from the gentle warrior's eyes. "He doesn't agree with your work as Zorro?"  
  
"No. Yes. I mean, he approves of Zorro, but he doesn't know he's me." He noticed that Zorro refused to look him in his eyes. He looked at the walls, the floor, the storm brewing outside--anywhere that was away from Alejandro.  
  
"You've never told your father? Why?" He could understand Zorro's choice to fight, and he now knew more of why he made such a decision, but he could not understand why the man refused to tell his own family his secret. He doubted he would ever truly understand, but he hoped that Zorro would be able to help him fathom his reasoning.  
  
"I . . ." Zorro sighed. "I was young when I started this masquerade. With the cockiness that comes with youth, I thought I would have Señor Alcalde quickly defeated, and then I could tell my father the truth. I love him and respect him. I want him to respect me. But I love him too much to tell him such a dangerous secret just to earn his respect. I don't want him to hang with me if I ever get caught. I also don't want to worry him. Can you imagine what he would feel like knowing how often I risk my life? It's bad enough that Victoria must worry about me."  
  
He watched the masked man for a moment. When Zorro's eyes met his, he answered the question. "Yes, I could imagine. I have a son of my own. I'd be proud of him for being you, but I'd despise it, too, knowing that he was out almost every night risking his life."  
  
Alejandro's eyes dropped away from the piercing gaze. He wanted to look into Zorro's face, but he found himself unable to do so. "I'm sure that your father is proud of you, even if he doesn't know that you are Zorro. We fathers are odd that way. We pray when you are born that you will have an easier life than we had, and then we are all upset that you are 'soft' because your life was easy. I'm sure your father is thrilled to call you his son. After all, you are the kind of man of which of father has to feel pride."  
  
Zorro seemed to hesitate over his words when he answered. "My father is a warrior like you. I've--I've never shown him that I am willing to fight for justice. He wants someone who will challenge injustice, and instead he got me. I'm not the type of man that my father can be proud of and respect."  
  
He laughed in understanding. "You misinterpret what I'm saying, Zorro. You are a man worthy of respect from your father, even if he wants a fighter. Sometimes our sons end up being so different than we imagined when they were boys, and we fathers hound them, trying to make them into the image that we carried in our hearts for so long. But, we also know if our sons are good men, and you are a good man, Zorro. Never doubt that fact. I can already tell you that you are not a gambler, that you do not take advantage of the weak, and you know how to treat ladies correctly. Such a man is worthy of respect and of pride."  
  
It was Alejandro's turn to sigh. "Yes, Zorro, I'm sure that your father is proud of you. He probably just doesn't know how to say it. Take my son, for example."  
  
"Don Diego?"  
  
"Yes, my Diego. He left for university to learn. He wanted to know all of the sciences. I was so proud because he would not have to be a soldier like me. He was getting a much better education. When he returned, he was interested in the sciences, poetry, art, and music. The stuff he should have been interested in after being taught to enjoy such beauty in the world. He had no desire to fight the fight I had decided, while he was away, that he would fight. I had imagined all these different scenes where he would swoop in like an avenging angel and solve a problem that I had no solution to myself. I admit that I was horribly disappointed in him."  
  
Alejandro gazed out at the storm for a moment, lost in a memory. He had no idea why he had started this path in their conversation, because he had meant to talk to Zorro about what was bothering him. Instead, they were talking about fathers and sons. Alejandro knew, somehow, that this talk was what the man needed at this moment. Maybe it would give him the strength to pull the edges of his wound closer together.  
  
"Unfortunately, for my son, you appeared about the same time. I admired you and your fight--you were doing what I wanted to be doing, what I wanted Diego to be doing. I nagged at him to become more like you. I wanted a fighter for a son and instead I got a poet. Poor Diego, he had to listen to me praise you and your fight so often that I'm sure he began to hate the mention of your name. I let very few moments pass that I didn't let him know how disappointed in him I was."  
  
He sighed again. He found it impossible to look at Zorro while he was sharing his feelings about his son, while he admitted to his failure as a father, but he knew the younger man was watching him intently. "Then, one night, I dreamed of my wife."  
  
"You dreamed of M--Doña Elena?" Zorro's question was a whisper in the wind.  
  
Alejandro's laugh was full of both admiration and joy. "Yes, I dreamed of my beautiful Elena. She was so full of spirit and life, just like I remembered her. She was so beautiful. And furious!" His grin became wistful. "She let me know what she thought about my treatment of *her* son. I was not to act towards him in such a deplorable manner. She demanded that I treat him with the respect and love he deserved. She reminded me that I had fallen in love with her for her passion and her gentle nature. I was now condemning my son for having those qualities of hers. I woke up that night filled with shame, because I knew that the dream was right. I was belittling my son for being like his mother, and I had no right to do that to him. He might not be what I wanted him to be-- he wasn't just a younger version of me, but of both of us--and I finally accepted him as he was."  
  
Leaning back against the coolness of the cave wall, he looked up at the ceiling. He did not even try to hide the tears that were flowing down his face. "It is funny, but it was only after I was willing to accept him, that I began to know him--the real him. I'd made assumptions that since he was unwilling to fight, he must not care. It took some time, but I finally noticed how loved he was by the people of the pueblo. Oh, he wasn't their hero like you, but he was their friend. He took the time to know everyone. He learned about their joys, their hopes, their fears. He's a true friend to everyone in Los Angeles--even the alcalde in his own way. He has helped so many with money--not just by giving but by teaching them how to use it the best--and he has helped many learn how to read and write. He's forever offering his ear and his shoulder to anyone who needs to talk or to cry. No, my son's not a warrior in his heart, but he is a friend. How could I not respect such a man? I am so blessed by my son, but I don't let him know it."  
  
Alejandro sighed, looking into the compassionate eyes of a hero. "I love him and respect him for being exactly who he is, and I have for a very long time. I never tell him that though. Instead, I use him as a scapegoat when I'm frustrated at the government or life in general. We fathers are very good at telling you sons how you disappoint, but unfortunately, we are very bad about telling our sons how they honor us. I've never told Diego once, and I'm sure your father feels the same way I do."  
  
Both men were silent for a long time, thinking about what had been said and what had not. Alejandro finally broke this silence as well. "I do believe the storm has ended. At least for now."  
  
Zorro looked surprised. "Yes, I guess it has. I hadn't noticed. I should be getting you home so you can rest."  
  
Both men quickly mounted Toronado, who quickly pounded over the distance between the cave and the de la Vega hacienda. Zorro stopped just before they arrived there. "I'm sorry, Señor de la Vega, but I fear I must let you off here. I'm sure that soldiers are waiting for me at your home. I doubt they will be bothering you for a while. His anger is directed at me for the moment, and he has learned that you already sent your message to the governor, not to mention the fact he will have a hard time explaining exactly *how* talking to an Americano is treason if the governor does decide to investigate. Let's pray that your letter will do some good."  
  
Alejandro heard a humor in that voice that warmed his heart. As long as there was a sense of humor, there was a chance.  
  
"Thank you again, Zorro. For everything that you do for us in this territory," he said while looking up at him. He could tell by the man's eyes that some type of healing had occurred to today. He just hoped it was enough to give him the strength to continue the battle to complete healing. Hopefully, it would at least stop the masked bandit from being so reckless. That alone made the day worth it, but Alejandro was also intensely grateful for the new knowledge and understanding he had gained about the outlaw.  
  
"Your welcome, amigo. Adios!" He turned his around to return to the direction from which they had come. "Don Alejandro!" Zorro called to him after a few moments. Alejandro turned to look at him in surprise. "Perhaps you would consider telling Don Diego what you told me in the cave earlier. As a son, I can tell you that he would dearly love to hear it."  
  
The older man smiled. "I'd already planned on doing just that tonight. I think I had forgotten what it felt like to be a son. Thank you for reminding me."  
  
Zorro nodded and waved before galloping off on Toronado. Alejandro stood still, unable to move, until the man disappeared over the horizon. He finally cried the tears he had *not* let fall earlier. "Please, be careful. Please. I want a chance to tell you how proud of you I really am, my son."  
  
Alejandro started to walk towards his hacienda, hoping to find his son waiting for him. He had a lot that he wanted to tell Diego without the mask standing between them. 


	5. 5

"Halo, Victoria," Diego said with a smile.  
  
Victoria's answering grin was bright, showing all her joy. For the last week her friend had been walking into her tavern with a small smile and wave. She watched as he slowly began eating more and talking with the other tavern patrons. His eyes remained haunted, but he no longer looked like a ghost.  
  
After preparing a tray, she walked over to his table where Sergeant Mendoza had joined him. Both men looked thankful--Mendoza more so, of course--as she placed bowls of stew in front of them, along with an entire loaf of fresh-baked bread. "An entire loaf?" Diego teased her.  
  
"Well, I knew how much the Sergeant likes my bread," she responded. Mendoza winked at her, letting her know that he understood. They both wanted Diego to begin eating enough to regain the weight he had lost.  
  
He seemed to understand her intentions as well. "Thank you."  
  
Victoria, without thought, reached over and rubbed her hand lightly through his hair. The looks of surprise on Diego and Mendoza's faces brought her back to her senses. She removed her hand with a sad smile. "I've missed you," was all she said. Diego opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped. Smiling softly, he nodded and then turned his attention to his lunch.  
  
Walking into her kitchen, Victoria's thoughts remained on the caballero. She looked at her hand after she put the tray down. She stared at it for moment like she had never seen it, and then she smiled. *You did enjoy the feel of is hairs caressing your fingers*. Victoria ignored the voice. Today was too good of a day to worry about the confused thoughts and feelings she had for two men.  
  
As for the other love of her life, Zorro had been in the plaza earlier today to deliver some cattle rustlers, managing to leave without giving a single lancer a chance to fire at him. For the first time in over a month, he had looked in her direction. She saw the sadness in his eyes, but he too was beginning to act normal.  
  
She started washing dishes, thinking about the two men who meant the world to her. Both had caused her countless nights of worry, but it seemed as if she could finally begin sleeping through the night again. They both seemed to be handling whatever problems were bothering them.  
  
*Mmm, isn't interesting that they both started acting strangely at the same time, and then they both start to begin acting right at the same time. Maybe . . .*  
  
The "maybe" was a thought that had plagued her more lately. Like she always did when the voice inside her mind made the suggestion, she told it that it was being silly and slammed the mental doors. It would be quiet now. At least, for a little while . . .  
  
* * * * *  
  
Alejandro de la Vega's smile was almost as bright as the afternoon sunlight shining down on Los Angeles. Today was a marvelous day. Diego had eaten a breakfast worthy of a man his size. His prized heifer had just given birth, and a letter had arrived from his lawyer telling him that the return on one of his investments was more than fifty percent.  
  
Then, he had come to the pueblo where the news only got better. Don Tores had sent a letter saying that he was coming home. Don Fernando's daughter had accepted the hand of good ranchero from Santa Barbara, and the name of Zorro was on everyone's lips. Most of the citizens had been unconcerned about the outlaw's recent behavior, but it had been noted. The recklessness seemed to be at an end. What a glorious day!  
  
Don Alejandro waved across the plaza at one of his vaquero. Lopez was becoming an excellent ranch hand, so Miquel had entrusted him with the duty of coming to the pueblo to pick up the supplies arriving on the coach. Lopez began walking over towards Don Alejandro. He stopped suddenly, his smile leaving. In its place was a look of confusion and fear.  
  
Don Alejandro stopped walking and then slowly turned to see what the problem might be. At that same time, he heard the thundering of horses and feared that maybe today was not a good day after all. What met his eyes were soldiers, lots of soldiers, riding hard in front of a coach. It was not the usual stagecoach that Los Angeles, but a personal coach. No one in Los Angeles, not even the de la Vegas, bothered with the expense of maintaining such a vehicle.  
  
He knew of several men in Monterey who bothered for the sake of appearance, and there were a few of them who had the power to ask for a military escort. However, there were even fewer who would be able to get an entire garrison of troops. Don Alejandro could only think of one man. Would the governor's visit bring good news or bad for the people of Los Angeles?  
  
As the coach came to a stop in front of the alcalde's office, the plaza began to fill with people. Most of them ventured out from the various buildings in curiosity, alerted to its presence by the noise of the escort. DeSoto stepped out to see what all the commotion was about and came to a standstill when he saw the governor's emblem on the side of the coach. Don Alejendro's approach stopped when the caballero noticed the sneer on the man's face. How could the alcalde dare show such disrespect towards the governor?  
  
DeSoto's face smoothed to a blank expression when Pablo Vicente Solá stepped from his coach. Saluting, the alcalde welcomed the governor to the humble pueblo. Solá didn't bother to return the salute. He turned to his colonel and said two words that made everyone in the plaza silent in shock for a moment: "Arrest him!"  
  
"You can't do this!" yelled the alcalde as the Colonel's men began chaining him.  
  
Solá grinned, leaning forward until his nose almost touched DeSoto's. "There you are most mistaken, my dear friend. All of your amigos have been arrested, so if you are expecting their help, you will be waiting for a very long time. Of course," he said with a larger smile. "I am still debating what to do with you. Treason is punishable by death, but I can also send you to Madrid so that my dear friend can take care of you. The King has heard many stories about you lately, since your friends' arrests. All of the letters of protest this man--" The governor pointed towards Don Alejandro. "Has sent over the years were, for some mysterious reason, in the possession of my Lieutenant Governor. We found them after his recent arrest and death. I made sure to send them on to Madrid."  
  
Walking away from the terrified man, Solá appeared to be in deep thought. "Yes, I think I will send you on to Madrid for your trial. Don Alejandro's letters, along with the rest, should arrive there not long before you." He turned and walked slowly back to where DeSoto stood, chained and gagged. "I've heard they have come up some very *interesting* ways for traitors to die," he taunted with a smile.  
  
Don Alejandro remembered a scene played out in this same plaza, months before, a scene he wanted to forget. He watched DeSoto begin to shake, and he felt sorry for the man. No man deserved to be split in parts by running horses, and Don Alejandro planned on sending another letter to tell Fernando that DeSoto had not been an extremely cruel alcalde, at least not until recently. He feared it may do no good, because if he was understanding the governor correctly, DeSoto had taken part in planning a coup d'état, something that Ferdinand would find unforgivable, especially after the last uprising at home.  
  
"Take him away!" the governor yelled, waving his hand. The people began to cheer as he planned. Don Alejandro thought that the governor should think of a career on stage. From everything that Don Alejandro had heard and seen, the man did enjoy his melodrama.  
  
"I think he should consider a career on stage," his son's whispered words echoed on his own thoughts. Alejandro turned his head to smile at him. He nodded his head when he noticed Victoria and Mendoza standing next to Diego. Since their talk after his return from the cave, father and son were growing more comfortable around each other. It was a change that Alejandro welcomed with open arms and a heart full of joy.  
  
"My thoughts exactly!" He whispered back as the crowd applauded loudly at something the governor was saying.  
  
It was then that he noticed everyone in the plaza had turned to look at him. He shifted, uneasy, thinking that he hadn't spoken that loudly. "Well, Don Alejandro, will you do me the honor?" Alejandro looked into Solá's eyes and saw amusement reflected from them. He suspected the man knew that Don Alejandro's attention had been elsewhere. "Will you do me the honor of accepting the post of alcalde?"  
  
Alejandro's jaw dropped, and he put his hand on his chest, unknowingly echoing his earlier motions when asked to be temporary alcalde of Los Angeles. "Me?"  
  
"Yes, you," Solá answered.  
  
"What about the King? He appointed DeSoto, surely he will want to appoint his replacement?" Alejandro's mind was racing with the possibilities. With him as alcalde, the people could receive a fair government. Even more important to him, his son could begin living his life without his many masks.  
  
Solá laughed. "Exactly the kind of answer the King would want! What loyalty! The King has left it up to me to appoint all new alcaldes for this area. He no longer wishes to be bothered with the task in Madrid. Besides, I know more of what each area needs for a leader."  
  
Alejandro de la Vega stood proudly in the plaza and accepted the position. The roar of the crowd's approval was amazing. It was even louder than the one that accompanied the alcalde to his jail cell.  
  
* * * * *  
  
He sat in his jail cell. At least, it was how he felt. Don Alejandro sighed, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his strained eyes. He reached forward and lit another candle off his old one. It would soon be burning out anyway. He spent long hours in this office, struggling to get the pueblo records in some kind of shape.  
  
DeSoto had been an excellent record keeper in many ways. He desire for neatness drove him to keep perfect records of births, deaths, and land exchanges. He also maintained an excellent accounting of money spent. Unfortunately, much of that book was a lie. Alejandro struggled to find out where the money had really gone, and he sometimes doubted he would find where all of it had disappeared to over the years.  
  
A light sound alerted him to another's presence. He pulled out his pistol, walking slowly towards the door leading to the jail. He opened the door quickly, aiming his gun. He lowered it when he noticed it was Zorro, and it looked like he had been busy tonight. Don Alejandro walked over and looked at the unconscious bandits lying inside on the beds. "Mendoza and his men." He felt rather than saw Zorro's nod. "Amazing, isn't it? Our Mendoza is such a good man, and this man, who happens to have the same last name, is a cruel animal."  
  
"Names don't determine how someone acts, Señor."  
  
The alcalde smiled. "I know. It's just one of those ironies of life that I've always wondered about, more so recently since--" He stopped speaking, and Zorro did not ask him to continue. Everyone in the pueblo knew about the recent discovery and death of Don Alejandro's son, a twin of Diego.  
  
"Congratulations on your recent appointment. The governor, at last, showed some sense in his choice." Zorro's breath sounded labored in the cool night air.  
  
Alejandro did laugh at that comment. "I'm sure sense had anything to do with it. I think it had more to do with keeping me out of his hair."  
  
"Either way, it was a smart choice." The new alcalde turned to look at his son, flinching when he noticed a damp spot on his chest. In the moonlights, with the dark cloth, it was hard to see what it was, but from the labored breathing and the slow movement of Zorro, Alejandro suspected that the man was injured.  
  
"You're hurt. Let me send Mendoza to get Doctor Hernandez," he began, pushing the outlaw towards his office.  
  
Zorro refused, shaking his head. "You forget, alcalde, but I am an outlaw, just as these men here in your jail are."  
  
Alejandro stood tall. "I would hardly classify you as the same as these animals!"  
  
"I would."  
  
He caught his breath, his heart breaking at the pain in those two words. He looked at the lowered head, the slumped shoulders, and wondered how his son could even begin to think that he was anything like these men. He pushed the taller man into his office, ordering him to sit down. He poured water from a pitcher into a bowl. Then, he found a rag and some bandages in the old alcalde's quarters. Before walking back into the room where Zorro awaited him, he stopped, struggling to get control of his emotions. It would do his son no good to find his father crying.  
  
"Remove your shirt," he ordered in a tone that accepted no argument as he walked through the door. He could not take the chance. Thankfully, Zorro began to unbutton his shirt, slowly removing the garment from his injured shoulder.  
  
Don Alejandro winced when he saw the deep scratches on the young man's chest and the deeper one on his shoulder. He also noticed many scares, silent reminders of old injuries--too many injuries to be on such a young body. Carefully, he began to cleanse the wound.  
  
"Señora Flores left today," Zorro said finally.  
  
Don Alejandro continued to wash the wound, giving his son a chance to say more. When several minutes had passed, he answered. "Yes, she did, Zorro. I'm surprised she stayed this long." Everyone had expected her to flee from the area the next day, running from the horrible memories. She showed everybody a strength, a courage, and a desire to fulfill duty that awed the pueblo of Los Angeles. Why her departure bothered Diego, he had no idea. She had been a married woman until that horrible day, and his son's feeling towards Victoria were well known and very deep.  
  
"I was in the plaza the day . . . the day . . ." Zorro struggled to catch his breath. "The day her son died."  
  
Alejandro began wrapping the bandage around the wound, nodding. He remembered Diego standing next to him, his face echoing the horror everyone felt. Personally, he had felt sick for days afterwards. He felt his stomach churn again just thinking about the day. "Were you?"  
  
Zorro slowly nodded his head. "I wasn't in--" he looked at his clothes. "This outfit, but I was there."  
  
"Many men were there, Zorro, including myself." Alejandro knew he would never forget.  
  
"I--I practically slit that boy's throat myself." The voice was flat, stating it as fact, like one tells someone that two plus two is four.  
  
Alejandro dropped the sodden rag onto the floor, glad that he was not carrying anything else. He turned to look at his son in horror. "What? That boy's throat was cut open by his father. No one else."  
  
Eyes full of tears looked at him. "I could have stopped Señor Flores; I wasn't standing far away, but I was afraid that people would notice."  
  
Suddenly, everything made sense to Don Alejandro. He should have realized what his son was thinking. "I was standing right next to him myself, Zorro. I didn't stop him either, and I wasn't afraid that people would at last see behind a mask. Why didn't I move?"  
  
Zorro shook his head, "It's not your--"  
  
Alejandro's rage exploded. "It's everyone's responsibility!" He sighed, regaining his control. He thought about that day. It had seemed like a wonderful day. Diego had been laughing most of the morning. Señora Flores had been making one of her rare appearances in town. "Diego played with him. That boy had the most enchanting laugh. He was amazed at every coin Diego 'pulled' from his ears. I saw his father storming into the plaza. I knew the man was angry, but--" He shook his head sadly. "I never expected . . . I remember watching those little feet carrying that tiny body over to his father as fast he could run."  
  
Alejandro sat down in the chair across his desk, lost in thought. "I expected Señor Flores to do what I did when little Diego ran to my arms. My Elena used to say that little Diego could turn a raging bull into a pussycat. When he drew out that dagger and held it to his throat . . . I thought it was joke, a horrible, sick joke."  
  
"Señora Flores screamed."  
  
Alejandro let the tears fall, noticing that the bottom of his son's mask was growing wet with his tears. "I remember . . . I remember her pleading with him, trying to explain that she only came for supplies, that she wasn't leaving him." None of her words had touched the man though. He was loco, so out of his mind with rage and drink, that he had lost touch with whatever reality he had known. Her pleas, along with everyone else's, seemed to only to enrage him more, until finally he had . . .  
  
"Diego and Doctor Hernandez struggled to stop the bleeding, but . . . It was too much from such a little body," his voice weakly finished.  
  
Zorro sobbed. "I should have stopped him."  
  
"There was nothing anyone could do after he had that knife on that throat. He had his back next to a wall. If anyone had approached him--"  
  
Zorro stood up angrily. His chair fell to the ground. "I should have stopped him!"  
  
Alejandro stood, his anger and frustration matching his son's. He slammed his hands against the desk, leaning across it. "You are not God, Diego!"  
  
His son's head snapped back, and his eyes widened in surprise. Don Alejandro might later regret his slip of the tongue, but right now he was struggling to save his son's soul. "You are a human being, and a rather wonderful one at that. I look at you, and wonder how such a man could come from my loins. The horrible thing, Diego, about being human, is that we can't solve every problem. I know that has been your role for so long that you think, somehow, that you can fix everything. You can't! You couldn't save that child, Diego, and you couldn't save that man. Something was twisted inside of him, and maybe, if we had known them better, we could have seen that and saved that little boy earlier. But in the plaza? No, we couldn't. It was already too late."  
  
Alejandro wiped away his tears, first from one cheek and then the other. "You couldn't save him, and you are not responsible. Señor Flores murdered his son. The blood is on his hands, Diego, not yours."  
  
Victoria's gasp alerted them to her presence. She stood in the doorway, a tray of food in her hands. Slowly, her eyes focused only on the man in black, she walked into the room. Placing the tray on the desk, Victoria's eyes moved over Diego's body, taking in the recent injuries and the old ones. She reached up, hesitant, and untied the mask. She dropped it onto the floor and sobbed.  
  
Reaching up, she drew his head down towards hers. She cried, even as she began kissing away his tears. "So that little voice was right," she laughed, confusing the older caballero. Diego didn't seem to understand the reference either.  
  
Her lips met his, and Don Alejandro looked away in pleased embarrassment. Victoria pulled away, and gazed at the man she had loved for so long. "There are days, Diego, that I still don't believe it happened. I never thought he would do it, even as I watched the blade of that dagger drag across his son's throat. To me, a father is someone who loves you." She looked over at Don Alejandro and smiled. She took his hands into hers and softly kissed them. "You know that, Diego. A father's hands mean love and not death. I know you. You didn't believe he would do it, either."  
  
Very slowly, Diego raised his hand and caressed her face. From her reaction, Alejandro thought it had been a long since his son had touched the woman he loved. Victoria began bawling, and Diego held her close, his tears mingling with hers. 


	6. 6

He sat up, struggling to escape Morpheus's hold on him. It took him a few moments to realize he was in his own bed, his dream being so pleasant, he didn't want to leave it. He had been holding Victoria in his arms, kissing her. It was something he did everyday since their wedding, but he found it too pleasant to forget about during his sleep.  
  
Diego should be use to the lack of sleep, the abrupt awakenings, but he found himself craving an entire night of sleep. He looked over at his wife. Her eyes were blinking in a way that told him her mind refused to believe her body was awake. "They cannot be hungry again."  
  
He laughed, leaning over to kiss her nose. "Of course they are! They are de la Vegas. And boys."  
  
Victoria dragged her arm over to the edge of the blanket. Diego stopped her. "Oh, no, my love, you are going to stay here in this warm bed. I am going to bring them to their supper." Her smile made the effort more than worth it.  
  
He shivered as his feet touched the cold floor. He did not bother to put on his robe. Slowly, he walked towards his sons' room. He would never tell Victoria, but he enjoyed their nightly feedings, enjoyed holding one of them while the other ate. They were special moments, reminding him of his mortality. If they were anything like their father, their parents would be lucky to know where they were at night in a few short years. He had often snuck out, wanting to race across the plains, explore a river, or jump across a gorge. With the spirit their cries showed, he believed they would soon follow in his--and their mother's--footsteps.  
  
He found his father holding them. Diego leaned against the doorjamb and smiled as he watched Alejandro talk to his sons. Don Alejandro, long suffering when it came to his desire to have babies in the de la Vega hacienda, was enjoying every moment of it. He also knew, like everyone else, that he would be hard pressed to get a hold of one of them when Felipe returned from Monterey next month. The de la Vega heir took his role as older brother very seriously. "I think they are wanting their mother," Diego finally said.  
  
His father smiled at him. "Oh, I know they are, Diego. I just wanted to hold them for a minute." Since their deep and emotional talk in the cave, each one of them had struggled to be more open and honest with the other. They had succeeded remarkably well. Father and son were finally comfortable with who they were and who the other one was. They appreciated each other for exactly how they were.  
  
Diego took his sons and wished Don Alejandro a good night. As he walked towards his room, his sons' cries echoed off the walls of the hall. Victoria had refused to hire a wet nurse, and Diego was happy with her choice. They both wanted to be good parents to the little ones.  
  
They also wanted to leave the world a better place for them. Secretly, they had begun to help those in the area who struggled with abuse. It had become obvious after Señor Flores's death by the alcalde that his wife had been terrified and harmed by his frequent rages. Victoria began to keep a close eye on the women of the pueblo. When she noticed one whose arms were always bruised, or who seemed unusually afraid, she told Diego about it. He found out what he could before they approached the woman, offering her a chance to escape. Some of the women took it eagerly, but others made the choice to stay--some for religious reasons, some for their children's sake, and some because they believed it was what they deserved. So far no one had found out what they were doing, but they were willing to stand up for it if anyone challenged them.  
  
Also, Diego, with the help of his father and wife, began to forgive himself. He often thought of a little boy's laughter, but he made the decision to go past it and work on saving other children that needed help. He walked into his room, and his heart lifted at the sight of his wife. She reached for one of her son's and eagerly brought him to her breast for his nightly feed. The other one stopped crying. It was a nightly ritual that amazed their parents. Both cried until one began to eat. The second the one stopped crying, the other one did, too. It was something Diego and Victoria were thankful for, with Victoria not wanting to hold them both at the same time to feed.  
  
Diego sat in a chair next to wife, amazed at the wonders in his life. Everyone in the pueblo seemed to accept his sudden courtship and marriage of Victoria without question. From the smiles and the thanks he received, he thought that Zorro's identity was probably an open secret in Los Angeles. No one ever mentioned it, but then no one ever talked about the masked man anymore. At least, not around him.  
  
He looked over to the closed window, noticing the moonlight playing on the white curtains. The second day of their marriage, Victoria had decided to redo his room. The red was too masculine, she had pronounced, but he thought that she knew what was in his heart. The red curtains brought back too many horrible memories and thoughts for him.  
  
He leaned forward and kissed his wife. She looked at him, a question in her eyes. "Thank you," he whispered. She leaned over to return the kiss, letting him know that she felt the same way. He was her every dream come true, too. 


End file.
